


True Colors

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bonding, M/M, Marking, Marriage, Rituals, Romance, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is rather abruptly forced into a situation he hadn’t expected, and comes to some startling realizations because of it.  (Or, the fic that came to otherwise be known as marriage!fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Colors

Michael came to him in a dream, in the form of a young John Winchester. It wasn’t the first time he’d come to Dean like this, and Dean was, if not used to it, then at least resigned. The archangel stared at Dean for a long moment, and then said, in a conversational tone, “So this war of yours is not going well.”

Dean took a step forward as his fists clenched, a reaction born of habit when someone challenged him. “This war of _mine?_ ” he growled.

Michael shrugged. “We can play semantics if you like, and you can toss blame around until you run out of breath to speak with, but the truth of the matter is, Lucifer is winning even with an imperfect vessel, because of _your_ stubbornness. Surely you know the truth of _that_ , at the very least.”

Dean did know. He’d seen the news, heard the horror stories pouring in from other hunters. He’d felt the overwhelming guilt every day for the last two years as he hunted with Sam and Castiel, searching for anything, _anything_ , to end this. Anything that wouldn’t mean the deaths of billions of people, the end of the world he’d fought so hard to protect his whole life. “The answer is still no,” he ground out, hating himself for it, as a small part of him always did.

“I know,” Michael said easily. “I’ve come to understand that about you. You will never give up. Nor will Sam, for that matter, and in a way, I truly find it commendable of you both. But inevitably, it will still mean the destruction of this world. The only way to keep things as you want them, to halt both the destruction Lucifer craves and to stave off the paradise the angels want, is to cast Lucifer back into Hell. And you cannot do that without me.”

“We’ll find another way,” Dean said stubbornly. “I don’t trust you. You angels all want the same thing, and even if I was stupid enough to let you have my meatsuit, I’d have no way of stopping you after from doing exactly what you want after.”

“And it would, of course, be too much to ask you to trust in the word of an angel.”

Dean’s snort was answer enough.

“I thought not,” Michael said, looking amused. Dean fought the urge to start throwing punches, knowing it wouldn’t end well for him if he did. Dream or no dream. “As it happens, I’d rather not see my Father’s creation come to such ruin, the idea of paradise notwithstanding. I’ve come to offer you another solution.”

Dean wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, coming from an angel. Especially this angel. “What kind of _solution?_ ” he asked warily.

“A way for you to have the power necessary to throw Lucifer back into his prison. A way to give you my power without taking possession of you myself. You would still have full control of your mind and body, you would just be… ‘juiced up with some borrowed angel mojo’, so to speak. I can also give you access to a very old, very powerful spell that will temporarily limit the powers of any angel currently on earth at that time. So however the battle between you and my brother goes, you’ll be on even ground, and the world will not face the destruction it otherwise would.”

If something sounded way too good to be true, Dean knew from experience that it probably was. “What’s the catch?” he asked, his tone still suspicious.

“The ‘catch’, if you want to call it that, is that without my presence there to reign in the grace I share with you and control it, your body would never be able to handle such power on its own. It would destroy you.” He raised an eyebrow, and Dean shut his mouth on the torrent of angry yelling that had been about to erupt, though he didn’t tone down his glare at all. “Luckily for you, I’ve brought you a solution to _that_ as well. You should be very grateful for the angel in your pocket, Dean. Even as far fallen as he is, without him, this would never be possible, and the world would burn.”

Dean swallowed back a sharp retort, and reached out to take the carefully rolled piece of parchment Michael held out for him. “What does Cas have to do with this?”

Michael nodded to the scroll clutched in Dean’s hands. “He’d be the best person to explain it to you, I think,” he said. Dean would swear his eyes were _twinkling_ , and it creeped him the hell out. “Talk to him. I’ll return in three days to hear your decision. But Dean…rest assured, this is the _only_ way you have to save this world. Don’t let pride or stubbornness stop you from taking it.” He reached out, touched two fingers to Dean’s forehead…

…and Dean woke with a startled gasp, halfway lying on a now crumpled roll of parchment covered in Enochian words he had no hope of understanding.

He climbed out of bed with a weary sigh and went to go find Castiel.

~*~

Castiel was leaning against the Impala, staring up at the newly risen sun, when Dean found him. He’d long since given up Jimmy’s suit and trench coat, and looked comfortable and contemplative with one leg bent at the knee and crossed over the other at the ankle, hands in the pockets of the well-worn jeans he’d taken to wearing. His hair looked the same as always, if a little more flyaway in the periodic breeze, but the dress shirt and tie had given way to a plain gray t-shirt that Dean thought was maybe a size too small, given the way it clung to his chest when he breathed too deeply or stretched a certain way.

Not that Dean noticed shit like that.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel said as Dean approached him, blue eyes piercing through the hunter when he looked over.

“Hey Cas.” Dean slid into his usual spot next to the angel, leaning against the car, his arm just shy of brushing Castiel’s. It was a familiar position, alluding to the easy friendship that had developed between the two in the past few years. It certainly hadn't always been that way, but nowadays, Dean just breathed easier in Castiel’s presence, and it had been a long time since he’d thought to question why that was. “I saw your brother again.”

“Michael?” Castiel asked, his gaze sharpening. “What did he want this time?”

Dean hesitated, then dug the folded parchment from his pocket, handing it over to the angel. “He said he wants to help. He wants to give me some of his power or something, so I can take down Lucifer without being a vessel.”

It didn’t look like Castiel was really paying attention, looking down at the parchment with a wide-eyed, deer-in headlights expression that told Dean he was completely stunned. His eyes darted across the words rapidly. When he finally did look up at Dean again, his gaze was full of incredulity. “Michael means for you to use this ritual?” he asked, the words slow and hesitant.

“Cas, I don’t even know what the ritual is. Michael only told me that I wouldn’t be able to take his powers and survive it if I didn’t use this first, and that it had something to do with you. Not like angels have ever been exactly forthcoming with info when we needed it in the past, doubt they’re gonna start now.” He glanced down at the parchment curiously. “Why, what is it anyway?”

Castiel took one deep breath, then another. His gaze held Dean’s fast, eyes bright and sharp and anxious. “For lack of better terms you would be able to understand, it’s…an angelic marriage ceremony.”

Dean stared. “An angelic _what?_ ”

Looking very uncomfortable now, Castiel shifted. “A marriage ceremony,” he repeated.

“Why would something like that even _exist?_ ” Dean asked, his voice rising steadily, making Castiel wince.

“The laws that governed the angels when I met you did not always exist, Dean,” Castiel said with a sigh, looking down. “Once, we were given leave to love more than our Father, more than humanity. There was a time when angels were allowed to _fall in_ love. This ceremony dates back to those days…back to before Lucifer’s fall, back to before the war. After that, our father set down the laws, and those angels who had bonded were forced to separate. Emotional attachment became a weakness, rather than something to be cherished.”

Dean’s eyes were wide as he took this in. “So…were _you_ …”

“No.” Castiel met his eyes again. “No, I never had such a connection to anyone. But Gabriel…he did, once. As an archangel, he was one of the first to be torn from his bonded.”

Dean hated to admit, even to himself, that that explained a lot about the archangel-turned-Trickster. “So Michael wants us to…get hitched.”

Castiel gave a huff of amused laughter, though he still looked tense. “For what it is he’s offered you, it’s the only real option. The ritual binds the two beings together. Being bound to me would ground the power Michael gives you. Channeled in such a way, it would not destroy you as it would otherwise.”

“Even with how weak your grace is?” Dean asked, softly because it was a sensitive subject to the angel sometimes.

“I have enough left for this,” Castiel assured him, equally quiet.

Dean was silent for a moment, eyes distant. “So this…bonding thing. Is it permanent?” He refused to acknowledge the way his hand wanted to tremble as he asked, the way his heart pounded in his chest. The way he didn’t know what answer he was hoping for Castiel to give.

“No, it is not. Michael has included the…counter ritual. I would assume he means it only to last as long as you have need to borrow his power. The second ritual will dissolve the bond as though it never existed. You will suffer no harm from either.”

Dean released a slow breath. “Could this be a trick, do you think? I mean, get me to agree and it counts as some twisted form of consent?”

“It’s no trick,” Castiel said. “Being bound to me would make it impossible for any angel, even one as powerful as Michael, to take you as a vessel. His offer to help is genuine.” He looked amazed, cautiously hopeful in a way they hadn’t allowed themselves to be in a long time.

“You think we should do this.” It wasn’t a question. Dean could see it in Castiel’s eyes.

“The choice is yours, Dean,” Castiel said softly. “But…I am not entirely certain you can afford _not_ to.”

That was something Dean found he was pretty inclined to agree with. Which meant…

Jesus Christ, it meant he was getting married.

To an _angel_.

The way his heart did a slow roll in his chest was because he was nervous. It had nothing to do with it being Cas that he was marrying.

Nothing at all.

~*~

If Castiel was surprised when Dean later told him he wanted to do the ritual that night, he did a good job of hiding it. “I’ll need to prepare a few things,” he said, quietly. They were back inside by then, sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table. Dean could hear Sam just beginning to stir in the other room, and any other day he would have been using the opportunity to rib his brother about sleeping until past ten. As it stood, he was going to have enough to talk to Sam about, and it wasn’t a conversation he was particularly looking forward to. “You should also determine where you’d like to perform the ritual.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face wearily. “Does it matter?” he asked.

Castiel’s gaze was on the tabletop, his hands folded in his lap. “Ideally, it should be a place with some sort of meaning to both parties involved. However, we can do without if –”

“The barn,” Dean cut in before Castiel could try to make another sacrifice, however small, for his sake. “Just outside Pontiac.” He allowed his gaze to meet the angel’s. “I mean, if that sounds okay to you…”

Castiel bowed his head, but not before Dean caught the upward tilt of his lips. “That will suffice,” is all he said, but something about it still made Dean feel warm.

“There anything else we need to do before you fly off?”

There was a brief hesitation. “Traditionally, there is a symbolic exchange…not unlike the custom of giving rings that you’re familiar with. This is typically some sort of mark, such as a tattoo, that is determined by the ritual itself. There are ways to avoid it, however, and it is largely unnecessary, what with this being temporary and more for convenience than any other reason. I thought, however, that I would mention it.”

He looked uncomfortable, and some part of Dean realized that Castiel wanted that tradition, even if he would never say it. Dean was surprised to find he didn’t mind the idea so much. “If we’re gonna do it, might as well do it right,” he said with a shrug. “Gotta admit, I think I like the idea of the ritual picking the symbol to be exchanged. No one ever accused me of being Mister Sentimental, and the idea of picking out rings or whatever scares the crap out of me. I’d be just as likely to hand you a cracker jack ring as anything actually…” _meaningful_ , he didn’t say, flushing a little because it wasn’t _supposed_ to be meaningful. Like Castiel said, it was necessary and convenient, nothing else.

Still, it was worth it for the softly murmured, “Thank you, Dean,” that came just before Castiel vanished, conveniently at the exact same moment as Sam walked in, rubbing sleep from his eyes and giving a monstrous yawn.

“Where’s Cas off to?” Sam asked, plopping down into the recently-vacated chair.

Rather than answer, Dean leaned forward, let his forehead rest on the table while he tried to think of what he could possibly say.

~*~

Predictably, Sam laughed. He laughed long and hard, and he kept laughing for long moments until he realized Dean was staring quietly at the far wall, looking entirely too serious to be kidding. They were in the living room by this point, and Bobby had joined them. The older hunter was shaking his head, muttering under his breath and probably calling Dean an ‘idjit’ in seventeen different languages.

“Dean, you’re kidding, right? You have to be kidding.” Sam looked a little bit desperate.

“Sam, do I look like I’m kidding?” Dean asked, fixing his eyes on his brother.

Sam sputtered. “But…Dean, _why?_ I mean, who’s to say Michael’s not just messing with you, or…”

“Cas says it’s legit, and he wouldn’t bullshit me.” To Dean’s mind, it was really as simple as that.

At Dean’s tone, Sam’s expression turned placating. “I know he wouldn’t. But dude, it just seems too convenient, don’t you think? Michael has to have some sort of game plan here, and maybe Cas doesn’t necessarily realize it.”

“Cas wouldn’t take the chance,” Dean said, content in the absolute faith he had in the angel. “If he wasn’t a hundred percent sure, he’d tell me, and you know it.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth several times, but couldn’t seem to come up with a suitable argument to that. To his credit, Dean repressed his smirk as he waited, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. When his brother finally sighed, Dean said, “Look, Sam, if there’s even half a chance of this working, we have to take it. It’s a freaking no-brainer. This is the best hope we’ve got.” He turned to Bobby, the person he probably respected more than just about anyone else in the world. “What do you think?” he asked him.

“Me? I think it’s probably the single craziest stunt you ever pulled, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.” Bobby paused, releases a breath. “But we’re runnin’ low on options. Crazy might be all we got left. If your angel says it’s real…well, I say it’s worth a shot.”

Dean bit off the usual response of, _he’s not my damn angel_ , because if there was ever going to be a time when that wasn’t true, this was definitely it. “Okay then,” he said instead, shifting his focus back to his brother. “We cool?”

Sam still looked worried, but that was practically his default expression these days anyway. Bobby’s support had clearly gone a long way, because he finally grinned after a minute, a particularly evil grin, and said, “You know I will never let you live this down.”

Dean reached over and cuffed him on the back of his head. “Bitch,” he muttered.

“Jerk,” Sam responded cheerfully.

~*~

Castiel returned several hours later, his eyes unreadable as he approached Dean, who was working diligently on one of the junkers in Bobby’s yard to kill time. Dean looked up from under the hood with a half smile, took a long pull from the water balanced on the engine. “Hey Cas,” he greeted, offering the bottle to the angel.

“Dean,” Castiel said, taking a drink and carefully setting the bottle back where Dean had taken it from. “Everything is prepared, whenever you’re ready.”

Dean looked down at his torn jeans, the sweat-and-grease-stained t-shirt, hands blackened by dirt and oil. He gave a shrug and grinned. “I’m good to go.”

Castiel’s lips twitched as he stepped forward, hand raised. He hesitated a foot away and waited for Dean’s nod before pressing two warm fingers to his forehead.

The world shifted.

Dean’s first thought as he took stock was that the barn hadn’t changed much since the day he had met Castiel, nearly four years ago. The walls and floor were still covered with a giant mural of symbols from every faith imaginable. The table where Dean’s weapons had once been laid out was still in one piece, and now held a single large candle. Dozens of others circled the floor, casting the barn in flickering light.

There was a strange tightness in Dean’s chest as memories bombarded him, words and images from what felt like another life, another person. He didn’t realize he was swaying until Castiel’s hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“Are you all right?” the angel asked, gazing at Dean with some concern.

The hunter nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” He swallowed a little. “So what do we need to do?”

Castiel motioned to the center of the floor, where a large black cloth was laid out with a single white pillar candle resting on it. Even from where he stood, Dean could see the sigils carved into the wax. Releasing a slow breath, he went over and sat cross-legged in front of the candle. He was surprised to realize, here and now, as the angel took a seat on the other side facing him, that he felt almost nothing but calm. He’d expected trepidation, unease, maybe even a sort of fear…not this feeling of peace settling over him now. He looked up, allowed his gaze to meet Castiel’s, and didn’t think he was imagining the hint of a smile on the angel’s face.

Castiel reached across the space separating them, to either side of the tall candle. His face was cast in a mix of light and shadow, the candle’s flame sparking brightly in his eyes. Without question, Dean placed his own hands palm-down on the angel’s, found himself relaxing even further when Castiel’s warm fingers wrapped around to grasp tightly. “Close your eyes, Dean,” he said softly.

Dean did, and then allowed himself to get lost in Castiel’s voice washing over him, words he didn’t understand falling from the angel’s lips as serenity flowed through him from where their palms connected. The longer Castiel spoke, the more aware of his _presence_ Dean was. He could _feel_ Castiel, a being of warmth and light and radiance sitting so close, and behind closed eyes, Dean could sense that presence growing, reaching out to him even as some part of him recognized and reached back, until all he could see in his mind’s eye was _light_ , light that should have burned but only soothed, light that wrapped around him and held him and _cared_ for him.

Without thought, Dean gave himself over to it.

There was a sharp gasp, and Dean’s eyes opened before he stopped to consider. Then they widened as he was overcome with awe. Because it wasn’t just Castiel, the once holy tax accountant residing in an empty meat suit sitting across from him. It was _Castiel_ , the angel, the warrior of God, in all his glory, bathed in incandescent light, wings spread wide behind him, and not only shadows this time, but actual _wings_ , made of fire and lightning and something Dean had no name for.

“Cas…” Dean whispered, his voice strange and trembling.

The angel’s eyes flew open, and they were still blue, even like this…so blue, and so pure, and they burned with everything he must have been feeling in that moment. “Dean.” His voice was _music_ , and it resonated within Dean’s very soul, lifted him so high he felt like he was flying.

The candle flared brightly between them, and coils of flame stretched out to either side, circling their joined hands, licking at their skin though it didn’t burn. Dean inhaled, one quick breath, and then his head was thrown back as that pure white light filled his vision, filled _him_ , leaving nothing of his soul untouched.

He was unconscious before he even hit the floor.

~*~

It was Michael’s smirk that bothered Dean the most. On his father’s face, it looked too familiar, and it put a cold pit in his stomach, knowing how easily the archangel could twist _his_ face like that, if given half an opportunity. He blinked around at the dreamscape, then glared at Michael. “What happened?”

“Don’t worry, you’re fine. The ritual took a bit more out of you than I think either you or Castiel expected. Speaking of which, I must applaud your quick decision-making. I expected you to angst about it for the full three days, but you’ve once again managed to surprise me.”

“Not like I had much to lose,” Dean said, carefully because he knew how angels liked to trap you with words when you didn’t expect it. “Cas said it’s easily reversible. No risk at all.”

Michael nodded. “Oh yes, fully reversible. And _you_ will feel no ill effect after, I promise, especially once I take back the bit of grace I’m to loan you.”

Dean didn’t miss the implication, and the cold pit in his stomach tightened and spread. “Cas…”

“Oh, don’t worry, the angel in your pocket will be fine,” Michael said, waving a careless hand. “Eventually the pain will dissipate and he’ll forget how much the bond affected him. In several hundred years or so.”

Dean’s fists clenched. “You son of a _bitch!_ ”

“Now, Dean, you’d have known what you were getting into had you done your research. Yes, the ritual can be undone, and true, you will suffer no ill effects from it. _You_ are _human_. You do not perceive things as we do. The ritual is a _binding_ , you and Castiel have bound your soul and his grace together. He will feel it, when they are torn apart.” Michael shrugged, unconcerned. “The point is, it’s done now, and I am fully prepared to do as I promised.”

Dean tried to clamp down on the anger that had him all but shaking. It wasn’t an easy feat. “Did Cas know?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Michael’s gaze was penetrating. “Of course he did. I imagine his ridiculous sense of loyalty to you persuaded him into thinking the benefits would outweigh the fear of what would come later. Lift your hands, Dean.”

The hunter complied with a scowl, something snappish half formed on his tongue, but the words died in his throat when his gaze caught the black markings at his wrists. Enochian symbols circled both of them, bracelets of words he couldn’t understand, both captivating and dizzying the longer he stared at them. “What the…”

“ _That_ is what Castiel likely did not expect, and why what you’ve done will pain him significantly more when it is undone than it otherwise would have.”

“What does it mean?” Dean asked, the question spilling forth against his will.

“There is no way to accurately translate to a language you would understand,” Michael said in that superior tone that always made Dean want to hit things, just on principal. “And I should not have to be the one to tell you this, but you two are so phenomenally _stupid_ that it appears I have no choice.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “How ‘bout we quit with the insults and move on to the explanations?”

“They are symbols of ultimate love and trust. Ultimate _devotion_. Castiel would not have expected these particular markings to appear.”

There was a strange ringing in Dean’s ears. “Why not?” he asked faintly.

Michael looked amused. “Those symbols are rare, Dean Winchester. That type of _love_ is rare. And the ritual would only mark you thusly if the feeling was shared between both parties.”

Dean felt his face go blank, felt his tensed muscles go slack. From a very great distance, he thought he heard Castiel’s voice calling to him, and Michael’s smile widened. “Hmm, it seems your… _husband_ is concerned about you. You just be sure to let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll finish this.”

And Dean awoke.

~*~

It wasn’t out of character for the first words Dean spoke to Castiel to be, “You goddamn lying angelic _bastard_ ,” though it had admittedly been a while since the last time he’d felt the _need_ for those particular words. Nor was it out of character for him to shove at Castiel’s chest as he sat up, forcing the angel away from where he’d been leaning over Dean, eyes intense as the hunter awoke.

It may have been a little out of character for his heart to jump at the sight of Castiel so close, but he was fully intending to keep _that_ reaction to himself.

Castiel grimaced, glancing down at his wrists and the bands of Enochian that surrounded them. “You’ve spoken with Michael.”

Dean would have stood if the room hadn’t been spinning furiously. Instead, he crossed his arms and fixed the most firm glare he could muster on Castiel.

“Dean, I didn’t know…”

“My ass,” the hunter growled. “You knew enough.”

Castiel’s eyes closed. “Yes. I knew enough. And I still feel it’s worth it, even if I could not have predicted the strength of the bond.” Very slowly, he looked back at Dean. “This may be our only chance. I’ve given more of myself for less, in the past.” _And always, always, for you._

Dean flinched. “Cas…”

Castiel’s expression was pained. “You heard more than just my spoken words.”

“That an effect of the…bond that you failed to mention?”

“Yes.” Castiel paused, blew out a quiet breath. “As is the restoration of my grace.”

Dean looked up sharply, his gaze questioning.

“It appears that, bound to your soul as it is, my grace is both restored and grounded.” Castiel looked like he didn’t know how to take such an unexpected gift, and he was quick to change the subject. “Dean, I swear, I had no idea how strong this would be. That you –”

Holding up a hand, Dean stood abruptly, fighting off the wave of dizziness that washed over him. There was something hard and aching in his chest, a hurt that he feared wasn’t his own at all. “We’re not talking about this right now,” he said. “I can’t deal with this _and_ the friggin’ devil. We finish locking Lucifer up, we…get a divorce, or whatever, and I sit down and figure things out from there.”

“All right,” Castiel agreed softly, standing as well, his eyes downcast. “Do you mean to summon Michael now?”

Dean took a breath, steeling himself, blocking everything else from his mind as his eyes found Castiel’s and locked on. “Tell me what to do.”

~*~

_It was molten radiance, burning through his veins. It was limitless power and boundless love, seeping into his core. It was wisdom from all the ages, understanding from generations upon generations. It was a story of the world, unfolding with every breath he released. It was infinite. It was eternal._

_And beneath it, glowing with a purity that could not be contained, shining even beyond the impossible brilliance of Grace, there was Bond. A chain of ethereal energy linking him to his angel, telling of that which he would not yet acknowledge, but could not ignore._

_He was filled with Peace. And Purity. And Power._

_Beyond all of it, he was filled with Love._

~*~

Under Castiel’s guidance, and with Michael’s voice ringing in his mind, Dean learned to harness the borrowed power. The first day was the worst. Only the tiniest sliver of grace had been given, but it filled him so completely, overflowed, _burned_ out of him, and if not for his tie to Castiel, he would never have survived it.

It was difficult. Shaping the power, willing it to do what he wanted, keeping it from taking him over completely, staying _himself_ while at the same time becoming _other_ … Castiel never faltered, never stopped working with him, only kept at it with infinite patience. Packing millennia of knowledge into the single week he had been granted, praying it would be enough, while simultaneously having Michael teach him the spell he would need on the battlefield.

And underneath it all the whole time was that connection. He was always aware of it, thrumming underneath his skin, burrowing deeper into his heart, into his _soul_. He could feel Castiel like a warm presence surrounding him, inside him, all around him, and it was both comforting and terrifying and he had no idea how to handle it beyond pretending it didn’t exist.

They’d always worked well together, and that had only grown in the past two years. With the bond in place that they had now, it was as though they were reading each other before they even had to speak. It scared Dean more than he wanted to admit, but in the privacy of his own shielded mind, he was able to admit that it scared him more because it _didn’t_ scare him so much. It was _Castiel_ , it was as natural as breathing to allow the angel so close. Just another step in the friendship they’d developed in four years of knowing each other. Another chapter in the Dean’n’Cas story, and if it was leading into unfamiliar territory…well, their friendship had _started_ that way. Wherever they ended up, it would only make sense for it to be as uncharted as their beginning had been.

But he still steadfastedly ignored these thoughts as he focused on training his mind and body and borrowed grace to do what they needed to do.

Kill the devil.

Then figure out what to do about…his angel.

His husband.

~*~

Lucifer clearly wasn’t expecting Dean to walk onto the battlefield _sans_ Michael. His eyes practically glowed with hatred, but otherwise, he stood unmoving, his hands clasped in front of him, head tilted just slightly to the side in a curious manner. The field they stood in was otherwise empty, barren and cold and _waiting_.

“You are either very foolish or very desperate, to have summoned me here when you have no hope of besting me,” Lucifer said when Dean was close enough to hear him.

Dean stopped, smiled a little serenely. “Y’know? Normally I’d be inclined to agree.” He lifted a hand, allowed grace and ether to flow together, felt the sword form in his hand, materializing like it was spun from the air itself. “Today? Not so much.”

He never heard Lucifer’s bellow of rage, too lost in Grace flowing through him again as he and Castiel worked together to release the bindings they’d placed to keep it hidden until this moment, using their bond to steady and strengthen it. Dean felt Castiel brush against his mind, could almost hear the words the angel meant to speak to him, but he couldn’t listen, couldn’t allow his focus to shift so drastically.

Under his breath, Dean whispered the words to the spell Michael had painstakingly taught him and stepped forward, as ready as he ever would be, toward the devil and the destiny he’d never wanted to admit he had.

~*~

Dean wasn’t sure how much later it was that Castiel found him. His mind was a torrent of images and words, sword-strikes and fire and a battle he could only dimly recall, the memories too much to process fully right now, so soon afterwards. He was facedown on the ground, his body feeling used and weak and broken, and when Castiel dropped to his knees beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, it was all he could do not to cry out at the touch.

The angel murmured to him softly, warmth flowing from his fingertips and into Dean, knitting him back together and quieting his mind, and Dean slowly allowed himself to sink into it.

He drifted, for how long he would never know, and when he finally came to fully, the sun was just beginning to set, casting the sky in a crimson and gold glow. “Cas?” he asked, his voice raspy.

Castiel’s hand carded gently through his hair. “I’m here, Dean.”

“What… I can’t remember…” He forced his eyes open, although it took almost all the strength he had, and he turned his head enough that he could look blearily up at Castiel.

“You won,” the angel said quietly, his hand paused where it had been threading in Dean’s hair. “But it took an amount of power Michael had not expected. In the final moments, he was forced to infuse you with more of his grace, and after Lucifer was cast down, he very quickly had to tear it from you so that it would not destroy you.”

Dean thought he could detect fear in Castiel’s voice. “M’okay, Cas,” he tried to reassure, though it was hard to be fully sure of it himself.

“I know,” Castiel sighed. “I know you are. Just…”

“Touch ‘n go for awhile, huh?” It was while he was forcing himself to sit up that Dean became aware of it. That same hum under his skin, the same feeling of _connection_ that signified Cas. He paused where he was pushing himself up, his hands clenched in dry, brittle grass and cold earth.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, probably sensing his mounting confusion.

“I can still feel it,” Dean said, his voice only just above a whisper. “I shouldn’t be able to, not if the grace is gone. Michael said…”

 _Consider it a wedding gift_. The voice resonated through him, the same blend of sarcasm and arrogance and amusement that Dean had grown used to, so painfully used to, over the last week. _I’ve bound a very small shard of grace to your soul. Not enough to harm you, or even grant you any more power than you would normally have. Only enough so that you may feel the bond between you as it was meant to be felt. What you do now is entirely your own choice._

 _Why?_ Dean asked, completely baffled. _Isn’t this bond, like, totally forbidden as it is?_

_It was. But things are clearly changing again, circumstances vastly different from what they were a millennium ago, and our father no longer seems to care. I would rather have my brother happy than miserable, regardless of how uncaring I may seem. He will find that happiness with you. But as I said, do what you will. The choice is yours. My only aim was to make it possible, and you’ll not be hearing from me again._

There was genuine relief there, but Dean was only peripherally aware of it as Michael left his head for good, because his mind was spinning, reeling with what the archangel had done. He’d given Dean the choice, to be able to hold onto the bond, be able to hold onto _Castiel_ …

“Dean?”

The hunter looked up at his angel, looked into those too-blue eyes, stared into the depths of Castiel’s newly-restored grace, and wondered why he’d ever questioned this.

Reaching over and tugging Castiel to him, sliding one hand into his hair, bringing them together in a kiss that was neither soft and gentle nor hard and greedy, but some impossible mix of the two, was the most effortless, most _right_ thing Dean would ever do in his life.

Allowing himself to take that plunge and fall was what his destiny had been leading him to all along.

Beneath the darkening autumn sky, symbols that circled their wrists began to glow, and the bond that had been forming since Dean Winchester was raised from perdition solidified and became eternal.

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Continue on with [](http://jessebee.livejournal.com/profile)[**jessebee**](http://jessebee.livejournal.com/)'s Gabriel story: [Limlal](http://library-j.livejournal.com/10088.html?#cutid1)  
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